


Persian Oil Lamps and Other Ornaments

by Frost_ing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Antiques shopkeeper harry, Attempt at Humor, Genie Draco, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frost_ing/pseuds/Frost_ing
Summary: 5 years after the war Harry stumbles upon Malfoy, who for some reason has gotten himself turned into a genie. Stay tuned for more.





	1. The box

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> A big thank you to Moonservant and Miraculous Potterhead for beta-ing!
> 
>  
> 
> Based on prompt #176 by Lostris (lostris_87)
> 
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NnIZtnyWEqbQHgi3U6N1CwbznCTkDeZGWJqgEw6KRrQ/edit

This story begins on a seemingly perfectly normal day. Harry Potter wakes up, takes his regular morning shower, grabs a quick breakfast and heads off to work. As per usual, he's the first to arrive, entering the store half an hour before opening to set things up. 

Had you told Harry five years ago that he would become an antiques shopkeeper, he would probably have laughed with glee and said _I’ll survive?!_ , and then _wait what_ , but the future is funny that way; you never know what might come along. It all started out when they were cleaning out Grimmauld place and found that there was a significant lack of places to get rid of old wizarding china, at least if you wanted to get a fair price for it. Hermione had presented the idea of doing a garage sale, but since they didn’t feel like revealing the Black estate’s location to the entire wizarding world, they decided to just rent a place instead. At first, it was just a small fun thing they did together - him, Ron, Hermione and a few other friends - but as time passed, others started to come in asking if Harry would be interested in selling their antiques as well, and Harry didn’t see any harm in doing that, so he did. It was only after a few months that Harry realized that he was running a business, and along with that came another, even more surprising realization: Harry Potter _loved_ antiques. 

You could probably say that, aside from the whole saving the world ordeal of course, selling antiques was Harry’s calling; in comparison to his hectic life before the war, where nearly _every living moment_ had been spent with danger lurking around the corner, shopkeeping was blissfully domestic. It was a nice change. For example, these days Harry’s biggest challenge was a close call between arranging his vases (so as to best bring out their various colours or patterns), and preventing his pet lizards from dying of obesity. And besides, finding something magnificent in a pile of otherwise useless crap had to be, in Harry’s opinion, one of the best feelings in the world.

Anyhow, where were we? Yes, right. Normal day.

So there Harry was, opening up his small antiques shop situated in the outskirts of wizarding London. The first delicate rays of morning sunlight came in through his storefront, highlighting thick pillars of dusty air, and their light gave the store an almost magical atmosphere. He spent some time polishing the mahogany counter and arranging ornaments, relishing in the peaceful silence, before finally walking over to the door and flipping the sign from “closed” to “open”.

However, on his way back to the counter, the pling of the doorbell made him turn, and he found himself face-to-face with a large bald man carrying a box almost as large as himself. Despite the fact that they were standing several feet apart, Harry felt like he needed to crane his neck in order to meet the man's eyes, a feeling he’d nearly forgotten since the Great Growth Spurt of 1998. And for a long moment, the man just stood there, looking hesitant and slightly nervous. 

“I heard you take donations,” the man finally said. His voice was almost as scruffy as the clothes he wore. 

“Yes, yes we do-” Harry began, but could not finish before the man dropped the box with a loud crash, turned around, and exited with another pling. Harry was left confused to say the least.

His eyes flicked over to the box. Although his inner antiques dealer wanted to cry, because _what if something broke_ , the side of him that felt intrigued, excited even, with the mysterious box was stronger. And so despite the obvious concerns of an unknown man dropping off a large box and leaving without another word, Harry levitated it into his small office. Giving his wristwatch a quick glance, he decided he might as well start going through the box now; the morning hours at the store usually weren’t very busy anyway.

The cardboard surface of the box was clean and smooth, indicating it hadn’t been used before. Enjoying the detective work, Harry let himself take a sniff. Yes, it even smelled fresh. He carefully coaxed up the lid, and felt his breath hitch at the sight that welcomed him. Oh, it was Christmas. 

Inside the box was a glorious mess of foreign-looking ornaments, cutlery and vases - it even had one of those persian oil lamps. Physically unable to hold back a smile, Harry reached in for the lamp, holding it carefully as he studied it. Its golden surface was close to perfectly preserved, and how someone could possibly want to _donate_ this was beyond Harry’s comprehension. _Oh well, their loss_ , he thought to himself smugly. He closed his fingers around the lid to look inside when suddenly-

Harry tumbled back onto the floor. The lamp, which was now hovering in mid air by the way, had started _glowing_. Blinding beams of light shot out of both its openings, and from the hole where Harry _oh so naively_ had dared to lift the lid, came a stream of blue smoke. Then the smoke started moving - first hauling itself towards Harry, then seemingly went _through_ Harry - and then eventually gathered into a large shape in the air above the lamp. 

“I AM THE GENIE IN THE BOTTLE,” boomed the shape. Blue and translucent, and still slightly indistinct, it loomed over Harry - whose eyes were just about coming out of their sockets.

“I WILL GRANT YOU THREE WISHES, THAT MAY CHANGE YOUR LIFE FOR THE BEtter-” The voice trailed away. 

“...Potter?” The previously thundering voice spoke with obvious surprise, now falling to conversational tone.

The smoke seemed to have finished arranging itself now, and Harry could distinguish the details of the shape more clearly. His gaze went from the foggy trail of smoke where its legs ought to be, to the perfectly tailored silk tunic covering its torso and mid-section. It lingered on the smooth, exposed neck for a moment, before at last reaching the face. It took Harry a while to make out the features, what with the blue fogginess of it all, but sure enough, there he was in all his grace. 

“Shit, _Malfoy?_ What the hell happened to you?” Harry burst out, his chest still heaving from the shocking turn of events.

“Come on, this one isn’t that difficult, even for you, Potter. What does it _look_ like?” Malfoy, now blue, translucent and and hovering two feet above the floor, said blankly.

“But that’s-” Harry scrambled to his feet, approaching the shape cautiously. His right hand reached out to touch Malfoy’s mid-section, but instead of gripping the patterned silk, it went right through. “Impossible.” He breathed. He tried to reach out again, just to be sure. 

“Okay, enough of that,” Malfoy stated, swiftly moving away from the hand and floating over to the other side of the room. “Let’s just get this over with,” he turned to Harry with a bored expression.

Harry looked between his hand and Malfoy as if to check whether they were both still there. _Was this actually happening?_ He blinked. “Um, what?”

“Of all the people…” Malfoy sighed. “Genie. You’re granted three wishes that may change your life, blah, blah, blah... Remember?”

“Oh, right.” 

“Yes, so?”

Harry shook his head, trying to get a grasp of what was actually going on. The very high probability that this was all a dream calmed him somehow, and he decided to proceed with their conversation without trying to make too much sense of it. 

“I don’t really want anything.” Harry’s tone was confident and not at all nervous or freaked out. 

“Of course there’s something. Just tell me.”

It didn’t _feel_ like a dream though. To clear his suspicions once and for all, Harry reached for his arm and pinched, hard. And hell, it hurt. 

“Potter.” Malfoy sounded annoyed.

“Um.” _Apparently this was happening._ “I guess I could use some new shoes?” It was more of a question than a wish, really, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot. 

“Oh, for fucks sake - _Shoes? Seriously?_ ” 

“I don’t know! It's all I could think of.”

“Listen,” Malfoy glided closer. “I’m granting you _life-changing wishes_ over here, not gift cards to Twilfit and Tattings.” 

“Well, maybe I don’t _need_ anything life-changing. I’m perfectly content with my life, thank you very much.” Harry stated defensively.

At that, Malfoy sneered and looked Harry up and down skeptically. Neither of them said anything, and for a moment, Harry almost expected Malfoy to break into a musical number - the kind of thing Harry had seen genies do in movies, where they’d showcase all the possibilities that the wisher now had at their disposal. Luckily, he didn’t - Malfoy just tutted and moved in a semi-circle around Harry, towards one of his old, large bookcases. Harry used the momentary silence on Malfoy’s end to collect himself, take a deep breath, and simply accept the fact that normality was a rare, luxurious thing for him.

“Here’s how it works,” Malfoy said after a while, still facing the bookshelf, “You make your wishes, then you get rid of me.”

“Great,” Harry said with a nod, “I’ll just let you know when I need something.”

Malfoy looked back again. “No, I don’t think you heard me. You don’t get rid of me until-”

The office door swung open.

“Hey boss, sorry I’m late. Caught in traffic, you know how it is,” A teen boy crossed the room, going straight through Malfoy as he went, and threw his hoodie over the tallboy in the corner. This was Harry’s only employee, a brown-haired, brown-eyed boy fresh out of Hogwarts who couldn’t possibly give less of a damn about antiques - but Harry didn’t have it in him to fire him.

Harry cleared his throat. “It’s no worries Talib, just try to make it tomorrow.” He managed a smile.

“Sure.” Talib was walking away again, but stopped on his way out, “Who were you talking to, by the way?”

“Yes, go on Potter, tell him,” Malfoy said, gesturing to himself defiantly. Harry’s gaze flicked between Malfoy and Talib uncertainly for a while.

“That’s right,” Malfoy said.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy, swiftly gliding over to hover right behind him and talking in that overly snuffy tone of his, distracted him. 

“You’re the only one who can see me,” he informed Harry triumphantly. A moment later, Malfoy let out a bitter scoff and shifted away again, and only then did Harry realize that he’d forgotten to breathe for a while. 

“Oh, um.” He let out a small nervous laugh. “That was just Ron on the floo,” came Harry at last.

“Cool.” The boy shrugged and left, the door squeaking close behind him.

After a beat of silence, in which Harry shook his head and contemplated what to do next, he turned to Malfoy and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I should probably get back to work now.”


	2. Cougar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you JET_playin and miraculous potterhead for beta-ing!

For the sake of his own social well being, Harry figured that it’d probably be wisest to ignore Malfoy when in the company of other people, but that proved to be easier said than done. It wasn’t just that Malfoy followed him everywhere he went (and by that Harry meant _everywhere_ ), but he also refused to stop talking. Harry kind of felt sorry for him in a way; it couldn’t have been easy to be stuck in a lamp for Merlin knows how long, only to be released into a world where the only person you can communicate with is your arch-nemesis. (Not that Harry considered Malfoy his arch-nemesis; he was an adult now, and had decided to let bygones be bygones a long time ago.) 

Throughout most of the day, Harry managed to ignore him just fine; after all, there were only so many comments one could make about his glasses and hairstyle before it got tedious. And although he had to admit that Malfoy had obviously _tried_ to get creative, a few times even earning a huff of annoyance from Harry’s side, he still hadn't managed to get Harry to the point where he felt like it was worth the humiliation of looking like a loony talking to himself.

It was now late afternoon that very same day, and with closing time being right around the corner, only a few lingering customers remained. Talib was hunched away in a corner, reading a quidditch newspaper with his feet propped up on an antique wooden cabinet - a habit which Harry had simply taken to accept at this point - whilst Harry served said customers.

“Incredible. Madam, this is definitely a nice piece of work. How long’s it been in the family?” Harry stood behind the counter, and with a flick of his wand he spun a chandelier around in the air in front of him. Opposite him, a middle aged, posh-looking woman - owner of the chandelier - smiled proudly.

“Oh, for centuries. See, it started all the way back in the 1600s with Godwin Greengrass, my great great… Well, a _lot_ of great’s anyway,” she laughed, and Harry laughed with her. Beside him he heard a deep sigh.

“Seriously Potter, is this what you do all day?” Malfoy groaned.

Harry ignored him and tried to listen as the lady went on with her story.

“This his is just so depressing.” Malfoy went on. “Your perception of a good time is truly twisted, did you know that?”

Harry kept nodding and smiling as the lady babbled on, even though he was finding it increasingly difficult to actually take in what she was saying. It was something about an old relative working in a gold mine to pay of a debt. Or did he own a gold mine? Harry wasn’t completely sure.

“I mean seriously, when was the last time you got laid, Potter?”

Now Harry definitely wasn’t keeping up with his conversation any more. Refusing to spare Malfoy so much as a glance, his eyes were almost manically fixed on the lady. This was not a question he was keen to discuss, especially not with Malfoy. With his jaw set and his hands carefully placed on the counter before him, Harry’s poker face was award-winning.

“Oh, and your hand doesn’t count.”

 _Fucking hell._ He could _hear_ Malfoy’s sly grin as he spoke. He made a mental note to check up on the cooling charms, because his clothes were starting to feel curiously suffocating and the heat appeared to be spreading to his face, and then cleared his throat, hoping that Malfoy would get the message.

“Hm. By your blush, I’d say it’s been months. Perhaps _years_ even.”

 _Ignore him and he’ll lose interest,_ Harry repeated in his mind _._ Malfoy, who was now sprawled out along the other side of the L-shaped counter, probably got off on this sick little game he was playing, and Harry wouldn’t have it. And besides - who was he to speak? Harry couldn’t imagine there being much more than a hand to work with in that lamp of his, either. He closed his eyes briefly, a weak attempt at clearing his head from thoughts of strangling the blue prat, and when they opened again, the woman had gone quiet, and was looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, what? I got distracted,” Harry gave her an apologetic smile.

“But you must have so much pent up sexual frustration!”

“What?” Harry repeated.

“What I was _asking_ was, around where would you estimate it’s value?” She spoke harshly, and was, judging by her face, less than pleased.

“Well,” Harry coughed. Unless he wanted Harry to mess up the deal of the decade, Malfoy ought to stop whatever he was doing, _asap._ On second thought, that was probably his goal - making Harry click. Masking his irritation in an expression of deep contemplation, Harry brought his hand to his forehead and stared _intently_ at the piece of work.

“I reckon 200 galleons at least, perhaps much more if you pick the right seller.” His voice was low and thoughtful - there was a certain technique one had to use when doing these things. If you were too straightforward or encouraging, or you could scare them away.

“Is that why you’re so distracted? I mean no offence when I say this - she appears to be a very nice lady, but Potter… “

Harry’s hands balled into fists, and he felt his pulse increase from the rush that comes with wanting to punch someone in the face _really_ badly.

“200 galleons? Oh my!” She yelped, the sneer gone without a trace. “Well then, would you say that you posses the qualities of such a seller?”

“I-”

“...I never imagined that you would have a thing for older women,”

Harry’s left fist collided forcefully with the countertop, causing it’s glass pane to rattle and the lady to gasp in shock. Immediately realizing his mistake, he shut his eyes. _Great._

“Please excuse me for a moment ma’am,” Harry announced tightly, not bothering to wait for her reply before heading for his office door. Once inside, he carefully closed the door and cast a quick silencing charm, before turning to Malfoy. Malfoy - who was quietly floating in the air by the entrance, a much too pleased look on his face.

“What the hell is your problem?” Harry bellowed at him.

“Relax, I was only joking.” Malfoy gave him a snub once-over. “I’m sure you get _loads_ of-”

“Yeah, very funny,” Harry interrupted. Apparently, his irritation only served to further amuse Malfoy - at least if that ever growing smug smile was anything to go by. Once again Harry felt that adrenaline-induced tingle in his fingers - even after all these years, there was still nobody that could _get_ to him quite the way Malfoy was able to.

“I really wish I could just punch you in the face right now.” Harry muttered, and then, upon seeing Malfoy’s raised eyebrows, quickly added, “And no - that wasn’t one of the wishes.”

“Why not, if it’s what you want?”

“Because I’m not five years old Malfoy.”

“You’ve gone bland, you know.”

“Yes, and you haven’t changed a bit.” Harry returned. He willed himself to calm down - this hectic day was taking its toll on him, and the only thing he truly wished for at this point, was for everything to go back to its normal, agreeable self. After allowing himself a deep breath, he spoke again.

”Look, I know you’ve got this whole ‘I hate Harry Potter and everything he stands for’-thing going on...”

Malfoy let out a scoff.

“...but can’t we at least _try_ to make this work? You stop - whatever this is that you’re doing, and I’ll promise to come up with my wishes as fast as I can.”  
  
Malfoy remained silent for a while, as if pondering over his options, and then finally rolled his eyes in surrender. “ _Fine._ ”

“Great,” Harry said with a small smile. “I’m sure this will be much more pleasant if we’re not on each other’s throats all the time.”  
  
Malfoy gave him a look. “Right.”

* * *

 

Walking out of the office and back to behind the counter, Harry greeted the lady with the warmest smile he could muster. She was eyeing him suspiciously, as if expecting another outburst, but her expression quickly softened upon seeing his much calmer composure.

“I’m sorry, there were just some nargles I had to deal with. All done now, though,” he announced politely.  
  
Malfoy scowled, but true to his word, remained silent for the rest of the time she was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an edited version of the chapter, hence the re-post. Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!<3


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